


to find the cage through the gilt

by fractalgeometry



Category: Good Omens (TV)
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Anxious Aziraphale (Good Omens), Aziraphale & Crowley Friendship (Good Omens), Caring Crowley (Good Omens), Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Heaven is Terrible (Good Omens), Hopeful Ending, Hugs, Hurt/Comfort, Other, Self-Esteem Issues, it's during canon so can't be all sunshine and rainbows but i did my best
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-15
Updated: 2020-08-15
Packaged: 2021-03-06 01:42:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,447
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25915312
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fractalgeometry/pseuds/fractalgeometry
Summary: “I just went to Heaven for a check-in,” Aziraphale said tersely. “We do those, you know. Quite organized.”“And came back pale and fidgety and now you’re refusing to talk about it.”“I am notfidgety!”Aziraphale snapped. He picked up the tea scoop and began to pass it between his hands.~Aziraphale is called to Heaven for a meeting and comes home off-kilter and jittery. Crowley assigns himself the unenviable task of picking apart each of Heaven's lies as they come up and reminding Aziraphale why he matters.
Relationships: Aziraphale & Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 34
Kudos: 153
Collections: Hurt Aziraphale





	to find the cage through the gilt

**Author's Note:**

> The characters and world in this are created and owned by Neil Gaiman and Terry Pratchett. I'm just playing in the sandbox.

Aziraphale set his cocoa down on the desk and was settling into his chair when he noticed a piece of paper in the middle of his workspace that he didn’t remember putting there. No, not just a piece of paper. An envelope. His heart sank, but he picked it up nonetheless. Perhaps it had just escaped his pile and fallen on the desk.

The front was blank. The back…the envelope was sealed with a complex mark that only seemed to be there around half the time. Bother. 

Not, Aziraphale assured himself as he broke the seal and removed the note inside, that a message from Heaven was a _bother._ He was merely surprised, that was all. It sometimes took a moment to adjust one’s expectations of an afternoon. 

He read the scant lines once, then again for good measure, and reminded himself again that a message from Heaven was nothing but good news. That the message was summoning him for a surprise check-in…that could still only be good news. By definition. 

Well. His afternoon expectations would apparently require quite a bit of adjusting. 

~

Aziraphale set one foot on the Up escalator, then quickly joined it with his other, so as to keep from tripping as the escalator sped upward. He set his eyes firmly ahead, refusing to look at the exit to Earth receding behind him. 

Heaven was so very _bright,_ Aziraphale thought as he stepped off the escalator and into the sweeping tile halls. It wasn’t loud or busy the way Earth was, but Heaven had a way of reminding you how very small you were. How unimportant. 

He turned down another hall into the usual meeting chamber. It too was oversized and bright, white floor and shining windows panning out in all directions as though to remind him that Heaven wasn’t bound by Earth’s laws of physics or matter or anything so mundane. 

The room was empty. Aziraphale moved halfway across it and stopped, folding his hands in front of him and trying to look patient and attentive. He was always the first to arrive, the others joining him after a varying amount of time. They were very busy, Aziraphale knew. He couldn’t expect them to always be available when he got there.

Aziraphale fixed his eyes on the spot on the far side of the room that the other angels always entered from, trying to detect whether he saw a hint of movement or if his Earth-accustomed eyes were imagining things. When, after several seconds, no one appeared, he decided it must be the latter. No matter. He had waited before, and he could do it again.

He was not _good_ at waiting. It was a failing of his, certainly. Oh, he could while away hours or even days, given a good book, but he didn’t bring books to Heaven. It seemed unwise, given the other angels’ opinions on books. And food. And anything from Earth, really. It was better to keep those particular enjoyments to himself. 

At the moment, however, he was wishing it didn’t have to be this way. Lacking reading material or any other distraction, he began to look around the room, almost jittery, skating his eyes back to the far entrance and away again, up the impossibly sloped walls of windows, the ceiling tiles that seemed to fade out of existence if he looked too closely. The urge to pace, to cross the room if only to feel his feet against the floor, to touch one of the white pillars, rose up inside him and grew. He squashed it resolutely. He would wait. He was patient.

His hands gripped each other more tightly, right thumb rubbing the back of his left hand firmly, back and forth, back and forth. He wove his fingers together haphazardly, unwove them, pressed them together. Leaned forward on the balls of his feet, back on his heels. Tried to breathe more deeply, settle back into his attentive waiting position. Surely it wouldn’t be much longer.

It felt long. The light didn’t change, the room stayed still, his feet didn’t get tired, but it felt long. 

Aziraphale started when the first archangel appeared, walking purposefully into the room. They were followed by the others, perfectly spaced, walking in a neat line. None of the four wasted a movement, a gesture, even a facial expression. Their footsteps were loud in the bare chamber, in a way that suggested the noise was entirely intentional and could have been removed completely if they so chose.

Aziraphale straightened up, stilling the unconscious movement of his hands, folding them in front of him again. He nodded to the others in what he hoped was a respectful yet relaxed way. They did not nod back.

“Aziraphale,” Michael said.

Aziraphale waited. They would get to the point on their own time. He knew better than to push.

“How are things on Earth?”

“Quite well,” Aziraphale said. “Doing some miracles, good deeds, keeping an eye on things in general, you know.”

“Yes,” Michael said, as though she hadn’t particularly cared what his answer was.

“Oh yeah, the ‘good deeds’ thing,” Gabriel interjected. “That’s what we wanted to talk to you about, actually.”

“Oh?” Aziraphale hoped he looked pleasantly interested, rather than completely blindsided like he felt. What about good deeds required a discussion? Let alone an official summons to Heaven? It was just his everyday work.

“Yeah,” Gabriel continued. “We’d like you to tone it down a little.”

“I’m sorry?” Aziraphale blinked. Perhaps he had let his mind wander too far while he was waiting, and had merely misheard.

“Tone it down,” Gabriel repeated. “Lay off a bit. Chill.” 

“Oh,” Aziraphale said again. “But,” he hesitated. “May I ask why?”

“Once someone is on a path toward us, there is simply no reason to continue spending your energy on them,” Michael said. “Unless they are falling away and need another push.”

“Well, of course,” Aziraphale said, somewhat relieved. “I only help those who need it.”

“Really?” Michael pulled out a list, and Aziraphale’s heart sank. Even without entirely understanding what he had done wrong, it was clear that it must be something, and the list was not about to help his case. 

“Gave a basket of food to a woman, devout churchgoer, steadfast believer in Her power,” Michael read.

“She was _hungry,”_ Aziraphale protested. “Her _children_ were hungry!”

“And yet,” Gabriel said in his infinitely reasonable tone, “She’s well on her way to us, and no doubt she’s teaching her kids the same.”

Aziraphale felt his mouth drop open, and quickly closed it. 

“Comforted a widower in St Matthew’s Church,” Michael continued. 

“He was grieving,” Aziraphale said numbly, knowing already that they would not be swayed and still unable to keep from explaining, trying to show them why they should care. “He was all alone, and-”

“And in a church,” Gabriel pointed out. “Probably already praying on his own, spiritual path taken care of. See, Aziraphale? There must be better candidates for your time.”

Aziraphale felt himself trying to bite his lip and carefully stopped, keeping his face as smooth as possible. “Surely they aren’t supposed to suffer,” he said quietly. “Not when one of the Almighty’s angels is close to hand. Wouldn’t She want-”

“Are you,” Gabriel said, and his voice had taken on the low and carefully controlled tone that Aziraphale could never help but quail under, “trying to tell us you know more about what the Almighty wants than me? Or Michael? Or the others?”

Aziraphale glanced at Uriel and Sandalphon, wishing before he could stop himself that they wouldn’t stay so silent and intimidating. It felt almost as though they were waiting for an excuse to lay into him, except that couldn’t be it. Not here.

“Is that what you’re saying, Aziraphale?” Gabriel said, and Aziraphale realized that he had forgotten to respond. 

“Of course not!” he said, words a little too loud in his hurry. “I would never- I just-”

“Good!” Gabriel said, jovial smile back in place. “Just had to make sure, you know how it is.” He looked around. “That all, then? I do have some things to get back to.”

“As long as Aziraphale understands our point,” Sandalphon said, eyes boring into Aziraphale’s face. Aziraphale thought he resisted the urge to shiver, but couldn’t be entirely sure. 

“I- yes, I understand,” he managed. Was his voice shaking? He hoped not. “Focus on- yes, thank you.”

“Focus on what?” Uriel asked, voice low as they stepped closer to Aziraphale.

“On those who need my help to- to get into Heaven,” Aziraphale said, not quite stepping back. 

“Just so,” Michael agreed. The list disappeared. Aziraphale wished it didn’t exist in the first place, and then instantly felt guilty for wishing so. It was good to know the other angels were keeping track of him. To know he wasn’t completely a lone agent.

“See you around, then,” Gabriel said, and strode toward the exit, followed by the other three. They forgot to make their footsteps echo until they were nearly gone, and the sudden noise made Aziraphale’s shoulders tighten. 

Then he was alone again, in the huge, bright, silent room. He stood for a minute, trying to re-center himself, trying to figure out why he felt like he had more questions now than when he had arrived. The archangels had explained their purpose. Explained _his_ purpose. He should be settled by the guidance.

Eventually he made his legs move, carrying him out of the meeting room and back down the halls toward the exit. He kept his head down, feeling inexplicably guilty every time he passed someone. As though he had done something unthinkable, and everyone must know and be judging him. 

But they weren’t, of course. Angels wouldn’t judge someone for a simple mistake. He had been set straight, after all, and there was nothing more that had to be done. He ought to have been a little more grateful, perhaps, but the archangels hadn’t seemed _too_ displeased when they left. Nothing they wouldn’t forget about before next time, at least. 

Aziraphale stopped still in the middle of the hallway. Good Lord. No more helping mothers in need? Starving children? Wasn’t everyone supposed to help children?

No. No, this line of thought was dangerous. He couldn’t go around questioning orders like this. Not again. Gabriel was right, he had to trust that the archangels understood God’s Word and were acting in its best interests. 

Someone whisked by so close they almost brushed his sleeve, giving him a reproachful look. Aziraphale hastily started walking again. Oh, he couldn’t wait to be home, be safe — not that Heaven wasn’t safe, of course, oh dear, what was he even thinking?

Stepping back onto the crowded, colorful streets of London was like putting a hot compress on his frozen nerves. It was overwhelming and calming at the same time, these too-loud, human-packed roads. He let the feeling wash over him, ignoring the voice in his head telling him that something must be wrong with him if this was calming and Heaven was not. He couldn’t face that fact right now. 

It was dark, he realized, with the kind of twilight in the sky that might mean the night was just beginning, but could also indicate the coming of morning. Aziraphale frowned at it, puzzled. Surely he hadn’t been in Heaven long enough for night to fall? Still, the light grew brighter as he made his way home, and he realized with some trepidation that he apparently had been, and long enough for it to pass by as well.

The bell jingled as Aziraphale pushed the door open, noticing how strangely firm and unyielding the handle felt as he gripped it. It opened easily enough, and he made his way inside. The room was dark, and he gestured the lights on vaguely before coming to a stop in the middle of the main room. The crowded bookshelves pressed close all around, exactly as they had been when he left. With the lights on, the sky outside the windows looked fully dark again, reminding him ruthlessly that time had kept moving along, even if it didn’t feel like it.

Aziraphale blew out a breath and moved over to his desk, flicking on the small lamp above his workspace. It was empty, his books and supplies stacked neatly to the sides where he kept them. The letter from Heaven was gone, as such letters were when he looked for them again. As though the trip had never happened. Yet the windows were dark, and his cocoa sat where he had placed it, only stone-cold. 

He settled himself into the chair, legs folding willingly after hours of standing. Then he rested his hands on the desk, noticing how round and soft and real they looked in the warm yellow light of the desk lamp. The wood under his hands was smooth and solid, and he pressed his palms against it, admiring the feeling. Then he drew a book out of the stack by his left hand and began to read.

By the time the sun rose in earnest, he had only turned two pages.

~

At the sound of the shop bell, Aziraphale looked up sharply. He was quite sure he had locked the door, so it couldn’t be a customer. Gabriel? Sandalphon? He felt the edge of the desk digging into his hand and glanced down in surprise, loosening his grip.

“Aziraphale?”

Crowley. Of course it was Crowley. Aziraphale relaxed out of his alert stance, then instantly felt guilty for it. A demon had just broken into his shop, after all, he should really not be relieved about it. Not that he was _relieved,_ of course-

“Aziraphale?” Crowley came into view. “Hey, you’re here! Wondered if you wanted-”

He stopped then, and raised his eyebrows above his sunglasses, clearly taking in whatever picture Aziraphale made, though he couldn’t imagine why it would require such a reaction. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing,” Aziraphale said quickly.

“I really don’t know how you expect me to believe that.” Crowley leaned against the wall, not taking his gaze off Aziraphale. 

“I was reading and lost track of time. It happens,” Aziraphale said, somewhat more defensively than he would have liked.

“Mhm,” Crowley said casually. “What were you doing before that?”

“What I spend my time on is none of your business.”

“Went to Heaven, did you?”

Aziraphale glared now. “If you must know, yes.”

“Thought so,” Crowley said, still annoyingly casual.

“Yes, and you were right, good for you,” Aziraphale said, torn between feeling guilty for being so snippy and feeling that Crowley deserved it, waltzing in and prying like this. “I’m going to go make some tea, since my concentration is broken anyway.”

Crowley looked like he wanted to say something to that, but stayed silent as Aziraphale brushed past him, then followed Aziraphale into the kitchen and leaned against the counter. After a moment he said, “So what’s wrong?”

“I’m perfectly fine,” Aziraphale said, moving to the teapot. “Really, I don’t know why you’re insisting on fussing like this.”

“You’re not,” Crowley said, in that far-too-knowing way of his. “And I don’t fuss.”

“I just went to Heaven for a check-in,” Aziraphale said tersely. “We do those, you know. Quite organized.”

“And came back pale and fidgety and now you’re refusing to talk about it.”

“I am not _fidgety!”_ Aziraphale snapped. He picked up the tea scoop and began to pass it between his hands.

“Okay,” Crowley said calmly. 

“And I shouldn’t even consider telling you about official work meetings, anyhow.”

“Okay,” Crowley said again. “But somebody hurt you, and I want to know what happened.”

“Heaven does not _hurt_ people,” Aziraphale said. His hands were shaking, he realized. How strange. “You’re just used to Hell’s way of doing things. Heaven is not like that!”

“No,” Crowley agreed. “It’s not. But there are a lot of ways to hurt someone.”

“And it’s not like you tell me when they’ve hurt you!” He paused, then quickly added, “Even if it was the same. Which it isn’t.”

Aziraphale saw Crowley’s mouth harden for a split second. “That is _not_ what we’re talking about right now. I’m not the one who looks like he’s about to fall over.”

The world was feeling fuzzy around the edges. Perhaps Aziraphale was angry. That might do it. He inhaled sharply. “I think you ought to leave for now.”

Crowley pushed away from the counter. His expression was indecipherable, though Aziraphale was pretty sure it wasn’t as angry as it should be. “Is that really what you want?”

“I think you ought-”

“To leave, yes, you said.” Crowley moved a little closer, not towards the door at all. “I’ll do it if you look me in the eye right now and tell me that that’s what you want.”

Aziraphale didn’t look at Crowley. Instead he dropped his eyes to the tea scoop in his hands, which he realized he was now twisting over and around his fingers. He made himself stop.

“I am going to make some tea,” he said, which wasn’t a response, except it was. He turned very deliberately and pulled the tea tin closer. 

The first scoop of tea leaves spilled across the counter. Aziraphale frowned and started to scoop another, which is when he realized his hands were still shaking. If anything, it had gotten worse. He stared uncomprehendingly at his hands, and the spilled tea, and the other dishes spread across the counter, realizing that the fuzziness was worse too, and something was very, very off.

Then all of a sudden Crowley was right next to him, and his hands were on Aziraphale’s, taking the tea scoop and laying it on the counter before returning to cup Aziraphale’s hands where they had automatically grasped each other. The touch was gentle, and warm, and all the good things that Heaven just... _wasn’t._

“Aziraphale?” Crowley said, and even his voice was low and calm and gentle.

Aziraphale should move away, send Crowley out, go back to his work. But the counter was blurry for some reason, and he was trembling, and he found himself turning _towards_ Crowley instead, leaning into the demon as though he might collapse otherwise. Maybe he would.

“Shit,” Crowley said eloquently, and pulled one hand away from where it was holding Aziraphale’s clenched one, instead wrapping his arm around Aziraphale’s shoulders to steady him. “Nothing wrong, my foot.”

“I’m-” Aziraphale began, but he couldn’t bring himself to pull away.

“If you say _fine,_ I will make it so the front door of this place never opens until at least the third try,” Crowley threatened, and Aziraphale shut his mouth. 

“Okay,” Crowley continued after a moment. He sounded like he had been doing a lot of very rapid thinking. “We’re going to go over to the sofa, because if we don’t, you actually _are_ going to fall down, and the floor in here is not comfortable.”

Aziraphale really wanted to resent being spoken to like he was incapable of making his own decisions or even giving input, but he couldn’t even find enough clarity of mind for that. He supposed, vaguely, that that was why Crowley was talking that way. 

“Hm,” he said, and even that small sound came out far more wavery than he would have liked. 

“Come on,” Crowley said. When Aziraphale didn’t move, he pulled gently on the angel’s shoulder. “Come _on._ Damn it, Aziraphale, you’re scaring me!”

“I don’t think I can,” Aziraphale said faintly. Everything felt very far away.

“You _can,”_ Crowley snapped. He did sound scared, Aziraphale realized. That wouldn’t do.

“I’ll be quite all right,” he assured. “No need to worry.”

Crowley made a sort of growling, frustrated noise at that, which really hadn’t been Aziraphale’s intention. Then he pulled on Aziraphale’s shoulder again, with more purpose. “Just...walk to the sofa.”

Aziraphale supposed he must have done so, because after a minute he felt cushions under him, and he wasn’t supporting his weight on his legs anymore. Crowley was still right next to him, thankfully, because his vision was intermittently being obscured by blinding brightness, and he _really_ wasn’t sure how he’d even gotten to the sofa, because everything felt very shaky and very fuzzy and-

“Okay, close your eyes,” Crowley said, and his voice was so close Aziraphale could almost feel it. 

“But-” he whispered.

“Just do it. I’ll stay watching,” Crowley said, still in the careful, controlled voice he’d been using since he first walked in the door. “Come on, Aziraphale.”

Aziraphale closed his eyes. The darkness was a relief, and he could feel his focus switching to the softness of the cushions under him, and the warmth of Crowley- oh, Crowley was hugging him, wasn’t he? Yes, he could feel arms around him, and his shoulder was pressed into something that must be Crowley’s chest. That would explain the feeling-Crowley’s-voice thing, at least. 

His eyes opened, and he tensed, realizing he must have accidentally leaned against Crowley, who was too generous to push him away. 

“Close your _eyes,”_ Crowley said, and his arms didn’t budge from where they were holding onto Aziraphale. “Just- stop trying to think of everything. And breathe or something. You’re freaking out.”

Aziraphale tried to protest that he was not “freaking out”, but the noise that came out of his mouth was definitely _not_ a calm protest. And, well, Crowley still wasn’t letting go, and Aziraphale was finding that he didn’t really _want_ him to, so he shut his eyes and tucked himself closer to Crowley and wondered if he really could block out the world if he tried hard enough.

“What part of ‘breathe’ did you not understand?” Crowley said after a moment. Then, quieter, “If you’re trying to scare me, it’s working.”

“Not trying,” Aziraphale murmured. “I’m sorry.”

“Apologize by breathing until you don’t seem so damn terrified,” Crowley said, almost as quietly. He tightened his grip a little.

Breathe. Okay. In and out. It couldn’t be that hard. Why did it seem so hard? Aziraphale squeezed his eyes shut on the tears that were starting, but some escaped anyway. Fine. That was fine. Everything was fine. 

He exhaled, shakily, and several more tears fell. Everything was not fine. 

Inhale into lungs that weren’t even necessary and still felt like someone was sitting on them. Exhale, move the air out, make room for more. He shuddered.

Crowley didn’t move as the process repeated itself, even when Aziraphale started truly crying and got Crowley’s shirt wet. Didn’t move as Aziraphale’s breaths slowly grew more even and the shaking subsided. He just sat there, holding tight to Aziraphale, grounding and real. 

“It’s so very empty,” Aziraphale said at last. “I ought to be pleased to get a chance to visit, being down here all the time, but when I go…” he trailed off.

“You’re not happy to be there,” Crowley said. He squeezed Aziraphale tighter. “I know you’re not going to say it, so I’m saying it. When you go to Heaven, it feels empty and you wish you were back here.”

Aziraphale flinched.

“No one is going to hear me here, angel,” Crowley said, correctly guessing the reason for the flinch. 

Aziraphale didn’t say that Heaven could see anywhere, if they wanted. They both knew that, and there was no way to talk about it without making it sound as though Crowley should leave. Aziraphale did not want Crowley to leave.

“They said I’m doing too many good deeds,” he murmured instead. “That’s why I got the summons.”

“Too _many_ good deeds?” Crowley sounded incredulous. “Last I checked, good deeds were kind of your people’s thing.”

“Not too many, perhaps,” Aziraphale said, shifting back to sit more on his own, though he didn’t move away from Crowley. “Misdirecting them, more like.”

Crowley raised his eyebrows.

Aziraphale sighed. “I ought to be spending more time on those whose salvation is in question. Even if others are- are hungry, or grieving.”

“So you’re not giving up on the lost causes fast enough for Up There?” Crowley asked wryly.

“No, that’s not it,” Aziraphale said miserably. “It’s people who are already going to Heaven who I need to stop worrying about. Their destiny is well enough set, and I should spend my time on those for whom it’s less sure.”

“I’m sorry,” Crowley said, “what? The ethereal doofuses are telling you not to care about those who truly believe in what you stand for? Isn’t that, like, the opposite of what’s supposed to happen?”

“Don’t call them that,” Aziraphale said almost absently.

“I’m a demon, I can call them whatever I want,” Crowley retorted. “Don’t try to distract me.”

“I don’t know,” Aziraphale said, and curled a little more in on himself. “I’m sure they have their reasons, but I can’t- people of all beliefs need help, and I’m an _angel,_ Crowley.”

“Yeah you are,” Crowley said, and Aziraphale never knew how to deal with the way Crowley made that sound like the best thing in the world, even though by all rights he should hate the fact. “How long were you gone, anyway? String of meetings kind of thing, or…?”

“Just the one.”

Crowley narrowed his eyes. “That doesn’t sound like a whole answer.”

“Why do you say that?” Aziraphale demanded, somewhat stung.

“Your voice did the thing it does when you’re omitting relevant information.”

Aziraphale glared, but couldn’t be bothered to hold it, and ended up looking at his lap. 

“Do you want to talk about it?” Crowley asked quietly.

“It’s foolish.”

“S’not.”

Aziraphale turned the glare back on, but didn’t lift it from his lap. After a moment Crowley’s arm wound around his shoulders and pulled him closer again. 

“It’s very empty,” Aziraphale repeated, after a long pause.

Crowley was quiet, and still, and clearly listening.

“It’s clean-cut, and neat, and- they have no need for limits up there, Crowley. It’s enormous, every part of it, and it reminds me that I am...very small.”

Crowley’s next inhale was a little sharper than usual, but he didn’t interrupt.

Aziraphale sighed. “When I am waiting for the archangels, I sometimes feel unsure of myself. The space makes me want to move and...feel something, but I know I ought to behave in a manner befitting an angel. _Especially_ in Heaven.”

“What counts as ‘a manner befitting an angel’?” Crowley asked.

“Patience,” Aziraphale replied promptly. “Peace. Pacing or exploring when one is supposed to be waiting is certainly not it.”

“Ah.” Crowley didn’t sound put at ease by the explanation. “How long did you have to wait for?”

“Most of the time I was there. The archangels are quite busy, they can’t just drop what they’re doing when I arrive. I expect it was,” he did some time calculation, “thirteen or fourteen hours. Not all that long, really.”

“Aziraphale,” Crowley said very quietly. “That is a long time to have to stand and wait patiently with no end in sight.”

“Oh, that’s hardly the longest,” Aziraphale reassured, then realized his words might not have the desired effect.

They didn’t. Crowley hugged him closer — which Aziraphale was certainly not complaining about — and said, “You don’t deserve that.”

“I’m quite sure Heaven has it under control,” Aziraphale said, his attempted tart tone falling rather short since he was squashed rather firmly against its target’s chest.

“They’re trying, all right,” Crowley said. “They’re trying to have _you_ under control, angel, and it’s hurting you.”

“Really!” Aziraphale exclaimed, pushing out of the embrace. “I am not being _hurt,_ I don’t know why you continue to insist on that!” He looked back at his friend’s face, and almost regretted it. Crowley looked miserable, sad and angry all at once. 

“You cried on this very sofa for, like, ten minutes just now,” he pointed out, and his voice was far more even than his face would suggest. “You’re describing isolation and not being told important information. Both of which are control tactics. And that’s not even getting into how they talk to you.”

“It isn’t isolation, it’s a quiet time to think,” Aziraphale said stubbornly. “And how do you know how they talk to me, anyway?”

Crowley looked uncomfortable. “Angels show up down here, sometimes. I might’ve overheard a thing or two over time.”

Pushing the issue, Aziraphale decided, would only start an argument over the way the archangels spoke to him. “I ought to be grateful for the quiet time,” he said instead. “And at the very least, it is not-”

“Oh, stop it already!” Crowley snapped, and Aziraphale was so startled he did.

“Yeah, okay,” Crowley continued. “What you’re describing _is not_ a kindness. I’m sure you’ve been told it is, and maybe you won’t even believe me, but it’s callous at best and you deserve more care.” 

“They only want the best for me,” Aziraphale said. He stared fixedly at the floor, because if he looked at Crowley now, he would break again. Crowley was a demon, it only made sense that he wouldn’t understand the reasons for things Heaven did. But he was right insofar as it didn’t _feel_ like a kindness. Not to Aziraphale. That was, however, a problem entirely with him. It must be.

“Aziraphale…” Crowley said, and he sounded absolutely miserable. 

There was a long silence.

Crowley broke it. “You have a right to feel your way about things, whether that means disagreeing with me, or disagreeing with them. And you have a right to not be _left alone for so long you can’t think straight.”_ He stopped, and Aziraphale heard him draw a deep breath. When he spoke again, his voice was quieter. “You deserve a lot more than you’re getting.”

“I don’t believe that,” Aziraphale said, and his voice wobbled. He pressed his lips together. 

“Then I’ll tell you again,” Crowley said without missing a beat. 

Aziraphale buried his face in his hands. “I don’t believe it, Crowley. I can’t. It’s not-” 

_Not what? Not true? Not done? Not safe?_ He couldn’t question Heaven. There were so many reasons he couldn’t question Heaven. But Heaven was empty, and lonely, and too big, and Aziraphale wasn’t, when it came down to it, a very good angel. Because there was a demon on his sofa, and it was Crowley, and Aziraphale wanted nothing more than to close the space between them again and let Crowley hold him until he stopped feeling so lost. 

Heaven wouldn’t like it. But then, Heaven wouldn’t like a lot of the things Aziraphale did.

“Aziraphale?”

“I don’t believe it,” Aziraphale said quietly. “I don’t know what to think.”

“That’s fair,” Crowley agreed. “I can tell you again.”

“Not- right now, I think,” Aziraphale said. “But...don’t go?”

They were silent. 

Crowley didn’t leave. 

After a minute Aziraphale slid closer to Crowley again. He looked at his friend. Crowley opened his arms and wiggled his fingers in invitation, so Aziraphale closed the last few centimeters between them and settled in. Then Crowley folded his arms around Aziraphale and Aziraphale felt pretty sure that he’d made the right choice for now.

“I’m sorry I’m being so- so wishy-washy,” he murmured. 

“Don't be,” Crowley said, and rested his chin on Aziraphale’s head. 

He didn’t say anything more, and Aziraphale couldn’t think of anything to say himself. He couldn’t say _I think maybe you’re right_ or _what if Heaven really isn’t infallible._ He couldn’t say _thank you for not leaving_ or _I love you_ or _you make me feel safe and that is terrifying._ He shouldn’t really even be staying here, curled up in his best friend’s arms, letting that ward off the fears and insecurities that he still couldn’t tell whether they were justified. 

He shouldn’t, but he wasn’t going to give this up until he was positive it was the right thing to do. And if he was never positive...perhaps he would just keep it. 

He didn’t dare dream of a day when the choice would be obvious, and he could come home and Crowley would be there, and he would say all those things, and Crowley would hug him again, and they would be free.

He shifted, freed one hand enough to cup Crowley’s knee in a gesture that he hoped conveyed some of his gratitude. Some of the words he couldn’t say. From the way Crowley dipped his head to touch his nose to Aziraphale’s hair, Aziraphale was pretty certain it worked.

He didn’t dare dream of a day when the choice was obvious and they were free. But if he had allowed himself to truly think about it, he would have realized that he had already chosen.

**Author's Note:**

> Fun fact: I did not expect this to be over 5k words, but then Aziraphale continued to be stubbornly miserable even as I (and Crowley) tried to bring the scene to a comfort-y close. So we got this. 
> 
> I hope you enjoyed this at least somewhat as much as I enjoyed writing it. Comments bring me untold amounts of joy, so if you have any thoughts, please do share! :)


End file.
